


Dido Burns

by Marivan



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Epic Poetry, Established Relationship, F/M, Kinda?, Literature is sexy, Orgasm Control, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reading to orgasm, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29376921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marivan/pseuds/Marivan
Summary: If Nile wants an orgasm, she has to keep reading.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Comments: 18
Kudos: 69





	Dido Burns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaybella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaybella/gifts).



> Much love and many thanks to marbletopempire and beans_on_toast for their super amazing and helpful beta work on this.
> 
> Inspired by this kink meme prompt: _Nile's reading books to pass the time and Booker has an idea to make the afternoon even more interesting_
> 
> The text quoted in bold in this fic is from Allen Mandlebaum's translation of The Aeneid by Virgil. 
> 
> I'm not sure if my high school classics teachers would be proud or ashamed that this is what their teaching came too. Oh well, I'm happy to be here. I hope you are too.

“ _The Aeneid_ , Book 4.”

She begins to read.

**Too late. The queen is caught between love’s pain**  
**and press. She fed the wound within her veins;**  
**she is eaten by a secret flame. Aeneas’**  
**high name, all he has done, again, again**  
**comes like a flood. His face, his words hold fast**  
**her breast. Care strips her limbs of calm and rest.**

“I have an idea,” he murmurs in her ear, low and suggestive. She feels the warmth of his breath against her skin. It makes her shiver, as it always does. She hums at him to elaborate.

“How do you feel about playing a little game?” She feels his arm at her back where she is snuggled against his side. His hand rubs lightly over her hip.

“I just started reading.”

“You wouldn’t have to stop.”

“Oh really?” Now this was interesting.

He leans away from her, stretching across the bed to the small table next to it. He returns to her with his hands full of her favorite toys, the heavy dildo that pushes against her walls in the most exquisite way, the vibrator that sends lightning radiating from her clit.

“You keep reading and I promise I’ll make you feel good.” He’s proud of himself, she can tell by the way his lips quirk up just slightly and the light dances off his eyes in the relative dim of their bedroom.

“What’s the catch?”

“You stop reading, I stop what I’m doing.”

She runs a hand through his hair and along his jaw. “I like a challenge,” she says and places a kiss on his cheek.

“I know you do.”

He pulls her across his thigh and settles her between his spread legs. She lays the book down for a moment and slips off her shorts and underwear. She leans back against his chest, bends her knees and spreads her thighs. She feels his hand settle low across her abdomen, his fingers just brushing the curls between her legs.

**Anna, my sister, what dreams make me shudder?**  
**Who is this stranger guest come to our house?**

As the words spill from her lips, she shudders at the relative cold of his fingers, of the lube as it runs between her folds.

He strokes at her labia, circles, rubs, presses her clit. She feels the sides of her mouth pull up in pleasure as she reads and as his touch continues, the first warm pulses of arousal in her nervous system. He has promised her greater pleasure, but the intimacy of his hands against her, of the foundation they are building, makes her sink back into him even further, tilt her hips into the hand against her.

**How confident he looks, how strong his chest**  
**and arms! I think—and I have cause—that he**  
**Is born of gods.**

She feels a finger dip ever so slightly into her entrance. His hands pull away for a moment and then returns slick with lube. His digit pushes back in till the heel of his hand rests against her sex. She feels enveloped by him, even if the pressure of a single finger inside her is slight and his palm cannot deliver the kind of sharp touches that will spike pleasure through her. It’s nice, though, reading aloud to him, as he breathes on the embers of her desire without building it up into dancing flames.

**For I must tell you, Anna, since the time**  
**Sycheaeus, my poor husband, died and my**  
**Own brother splashed our household gods with blood,**

A whine crawls up the back of her throat and pulls his fingers away. “ _Cherie_ ,” he murmurs against her hair, a warning and a reminder.

**Aeneas is the only man to move**  
**My feelings, to overturn my shifting heart.**  
**I know too well the signs of the old flame.**

She hears the buzz of the vibrator before she feels it. It presses against her body, just above her public bone, just beyond where she really wants it.

Finally, finally he sides the vibe against her clit and her hips jerk up into the sensation. He chuckles into her ear at her reaction: no matter how many times they reach for this vibe, it always sends her skyrocketing.

He runs the vibe up and down over her labia, teasing. She keens in between words, sparks jumping beneath her skin.

**And Anna answers: “Sister, you more dear**  
**To me than light itself, are you to lose**  
**All your youth in dreary loneliness,**  
**And never know sweet children or the soft**  
**Rewards of Venus?**

Suddenly, he plunges two fingers into her vagina as the vibrator presses harder against her clit. Her breath hitches and her reading voice gets breathier, rasping out the words. There’s a slight burn at her entrance where his fingers breach it. He curls his fingers against her walls, pushing and stroking her arousal. She shivers with it, with the throbbing against her clit, the light pressure inside her. Her hips squirm back against his, moving away from the sensations that are both too much and not enough.

She has all but lost the thread of what she’s reading. Something about Dido’s feelings towards Aenas? Her brain snags on the occasional word -- “suitor” “heart” “triumph” -- but as her mouth reads what’s on the page the rest of her is consumed by all the other stimuli. The rumbling of the vibrator, the weight of his arms along her sides, the press of his fingers against her. With each moment, each movement, he adds another card to the house, with steady hands building her higher and higher. Her heels press into the mattress. Her free hand snakes behind him, cupping his shoulder, his neck, his head, gripping at his hair. He moves the vibe in a slight circle and her hips buck up and down. Her toes curl and she is ready, so ready, for him to continue pouring pleasure into her till it spills over.

She feels all coiled up inside and ready to spring loose, fly apart. Her eyes squeeze shut. Her head falls back against his shoulder. Release is right there, right there.

The vibe pulls away. His fingers pull out.

Her eyes flick open, jolted into confusion, searching wildly for his face. Her body rebels against the sudden loss of sensation, jerks and flutters against only air.

She sees the mischievous twinkle in his eye and he doesn’t have to say anything before she groans and closes her lids and thunks her head back against him.

“Rules are rules,” he says.

“I know.” She grits the words through her teeth. Her body was so ready. _God. Fuck._

“You want to keep going?” His tone is softer and she opens her eyes again. She looks into his gaze and sees his love and his care and his affection and, as much as they might play, that this is what matters.

She nods. “Haven’t come yet. Extremely turned on.”

The smirk that spreads over his face is just deliciously wicked and she can’t help but shiver against him.

“Then you know what you have to do.”

She groans again. God, she loves this perfect, beautiful man. She picks up the book from where it had fallen on the bed sheets and begins again.

**If you marry Aeneas, what a city**  
**And what a kingdom, sister, you will see!**

She see it coming out of the corner of her eyes, but as the weight of the dildo pushes at her entrance, now slick with her own arousal, she can’t help but bite out a “Fuck.”

He starts to pull it away.

“Don’t you dare.” The next words from the page tumble out quickly, meaninglessly, urging him to start up again, to push the heavy silicone into her.

**With Trojan arms beside us, so much greatness**  
**Must lie in wait for Punic glory!**

He does, pushes it in till it bottoms out against her. He begins rocking it back and forth, bellows to the fire of her desire. She knows he must be reading over her shoulder, for when she nears the end of a line that is also the end of a sentence, the heft of the silicon pulls almost all the way out of her and then slams back in, in the space between thoughts. She continues, but it is almost torturous knowing that he is coordinating her pleasure to the text, being able to anticipate each spike in her pleasure, knowing it’s coming and knowing that the only thing she can do to keep it coming is not to give into it.

**These words of Anna fed the fire in Dido.**  
**Hope burned away her doubt, destroyed her shame.**

He strokes a knuckle over her clit and her hips fly off the mattress and her words tumble out breathy and stuttering. She can only manage one or two at a time between deep, heaving gasps. His knuckle comes again, rubbing back and forth as he picks up the speed of the dildo pushing into her and it takes _everything_ she has not to thrash her head back and forth, a small release of the pressure. So it builds. Her words rasp out in dribs and drabs.

**Can vows**

And that’s when the vibrator returns, searing pleasure along each and every nerve in her body. She tries to snap her legs together -- more angle, more pressure, more pleasure, more everything -- but his arms and elbows prevent her. Her knees flop back and forth as her feet skate up and down the sheets.

**wild with love?**

The words have lost all context. She pants them out between gulps of air. She knows they continue because he is still putting pleasure into her body, her soul. Her back arches. Her shoulders shake. He presses the toys against her hard, with each vibration, each stroke against her walls and her opening, sparks skitter across her belly.

**flame devours**

Arousal builds and blooms and unfurls from her very center, sending thrills through her veins, pleasure pricking from her neck to her thighs. It is everywhere.

Then he presses a kiss at the base of her jaw and and

**Dido burns.**

Pleasure crashes through her. Her body shakes. Her whole world goes bright. Her head falls against his shoulder. Her chest heaves.

He pulls the toys from her body and she sighs into him at both the loss and the release. He wraps his arms around her torso, stroking small arcs with his thumbs. She twists her nose into his neck and hums.

“Satisfied, _mon coeur_?”

A noise emerges from the back of her throat, affirmative. He chuckles softly and she can’t help but grin at his happiness against her own bonelessness.

She turns further and curls against his chest.

“You read,” she murmurs.

He presses a kiss to the top of her head and scoops up the discarded paperback.

She feels his voice as much as she hears it as Dido shows Aeneas her city, as she feasts him and falls for him, as he leaves, as she mounts her own funeral pyre at his loss.

He comes to the end of it and closes the book softly and runs a hand down her back, loving as ever. She is just on the edge of sleep, safe and satisfied in his arms.

“Nile.” He calls to her, a benediction.

“I don’t need godly intervention to burn for you, Sébastien.”

He leans down and presses light kisses to her shoulder and her neck and her cheek. “Nor I, for you.”


End file.
